I text my friend after getting off work and ask her if she wants to grab dinner. “I would, but I just took my makeup off,” she says. “I look like trash.” I don’t question it — when the makeup comes off, I am officially in for the night, too. On lazy mornings, I wake up late and look at my terrible, spotty, blotchy skin in the all-too-revealing morning light before throwing on BB cream, brow pomade, tinted lip balm, mascara and sunglasses to sneak downstairs for a coffee, hoping not to see a cute person or, God forbid, someone I know. So many of us casually compare our natural, makeup-less faces to garbage and refuse to be seen without some kind of barrier between our real skin and everyone else. The media is no help: it’s still news when celebrities go out with no makeup on, even just to the gym. Would forcing myself to go without my cosmetic crutches for a week really help me love my bare face? I decided to put it to the test.

On any given day, I use primer, a color correcting palette, tinted moisturizer with SPF, concealer, highlight, blush, powder, brow volumizer, brow pencil, lipstick and mascara. If I’m feeling fancy, going somewhere fun or just have some extra time on my hands, I may throw in some eyeliner, contour, eyeshadow or a dramatic lip. While this sounds like a lot of product, I usually spend 15 minutes at most doing my makeup (mostly because I literally never attempt winged eyeliner). At the end of my routine, I feel great about myself, knowing that my face is as flawless as it’s going to get.

With conviction, I zipped up my makeup bag on Sunday night: it was all off-limits this week.

On Monday, I wake up with a cold, much worse than the minor congestion I had the night before. I shower, get dressed and moisturize before remembering I can’t do anything else to my face. My eyes look puffy and red — not only is it 8 a.m., but I’m sick, too. I put on a necklace and my favorite shoes to make myself feel a little better about my look, but I’m not satisfied. As I wipe my runny eyes and sneeze enough times to warrant dirty looks from my classmates, I am quietly glad that I’m not wearing mascara. I can touch my eyes as much as I please! After my only class for the day, I go home to spend the rest of the rainy day in my bed.

Tuesday is harder than Monday — I’m still sick, breaking out and I have three classes to go to. I avoid looking in mirrors, and two of my coworkers ask me if I’m okay. I don’t know whether they are asking me because of my lack of makeup, my actual sickness or a combination of the two, but it doesn’t feel great. This continued through Wednesday.

By Thursday morning, I almost make it out of the house without makeup, but I run back into the bathroom and let myself cheat without thinking twice. I have a long day; class, my internship and then work in the evening, and I don’t want to feel as unconfident as I did yesterday. I grab my favorite Nars tinted moisturizer like it’s my lifeline, highlight my cheekbones, fill in my brows, put on some mascara and sigh with relief. I smile at someone in Starbucks and happily catch my reflection in windows for the rest of the day.

The last day of my week starts out fine, and I am determined not to cheat like I had the day before. I’m not sick anymore, but I still can’t help feeling unfinished and half asleep as I leave the house barefaced. While I thought that my morning routine would be quicker without makeup on, I now obsess over my skin in the mirror and brush my eyebrows to no avail for two whole songs; in that time, I could’ve done a fresh-faced, natural makeup look. I cancel plans with my friend later that evening because I feel like crawling into a hole.

Suffice it to say, this week sucked. I had no idea that living without makeup would actually affect my energy, self-confidence and interpersonal relationships so much. For me, going out without makeup is like going out without brushing my teeth or putting on deodorant: I can do it, but I will be uncomfortable and I won’t strike up a conversation with my barista that day. To other people, wearing makeup may be something they don’t feel the need for or just dislike. Maybe one day I will feel like them. Maybe I won’t. This week, I have learned that I’m happy and confident when I’m comfortable, and I’m comfortable when I’m wearing a little makeup.

Email Camille Larkins at [email protected].